Friday, January 8, 2010

Mommy and the monster

My home has succumbed to the demands of a new kind of monster.
The two year old girl kind.
Punk wants nothing to do with Daddy.
She will run from him, evade him, and yell at him when he tries to pick her up or take her hand.
She only wants, you guessed it, Mommy.
Which is nice. And which sucks ho ho's.
I work all day.
By the time I get home, I have a couple of hours with the heathens before its bed time.
Some nights, I'm exhausted and all I want to do is rest.
Not be mauled by an over zealous toddler with plans on Mommy domination.
I am coherent enough to realize these days are fleeting and few, and in the blink of any eye, I will look back and regret hiding in the bathroom just to get five minutes of peace.
I know that childhood passes in the blink of an eye.
I know all of that.
And I still find myself seeking closets to hide in, ways to get just a few minutes of quiet without a child digging her mutant monkey toes into my body.
I throw The Man into the pit and let them have him on more nightS than not.
He enjoys it.
Or that's what I tell myself when I hear his screams for mercy.
But our daughter will have none of him, and so she's a tricky girl.
Her I have a tough time running from.
Because she stalks me.
In dress up high heels, footie pajamas, thumb in mouth and wild Medusa hair, she stalks me, a lion cub watching her prey.
And when she pounces, I have no recourse.
I'm that dumb damned wildebeast. Stupid. Caught. Devoured.
By a two year old bent on Mommy domination.

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